He Hadn't Always Been Like This
by whyyouackinsocray-crayy
Summary: A look at the character of Mark Snow and his life before Number Crunch.  One-shot.  My first story.


My first fanfic.

I do not own Person of Interest or the characters of the show.

He hadn't always been like this.

There was a time in Mark Snow's life when he hadn't worked constantly in secret, hadn't lied to cops to gain their trust, hadn't stabbed old friends in the back.

Or in this case, shoot them.

Not that he would call John Reese his friend, more like an old asset. Someone he could use and dispose. Just expendable. But even in his old life Mark Snow would not have done that to another person. Though, he wasn't Mark Snow, either.

Before he joined the CIA he had been fresh out of the army, proud of his service. He had been young then, full head of brown hair in a clean cut. He had returned with every intention of getting a good, honest job and marrying his girlfriend. He was looking forward to a calm life, away from the war.

And when he returned to the States, he found his girlfriend and they did marry. He found a job. He had a life, a pretty good one. He did not lie or deceive. He had real trust.

2001

Mark remembered the phone call from his wife that day in September. She had said she was fine, that they were evacuating the building. She said she would be home.

But she never came home, she wasn't fine.

And now Mark had nothing at all. Nothing to live for, nothing mattered. He went on for months in sorrow and depression and drinking. He remembered his time in the service. That had mattered to him.

2002

Mark remembered his first mission. He met his handler and a few minutes later they were already shooting people. It went by in a blur. He met the surly looking man in a bar. The man had suggested going somewhere "private" to talk, being the roof of the building they were in only moments before. As soon as they were up there, that man, Grant, had pointed out a few people on the street, saying one was helping a terrorist cell in the area.

"How do you know?" Mark remembered asking.

Grant looked at him and sighed. It seemed to Mark that Grant was mocking him, thinking of him as foolish, stupid even, for asking such a question. It made Mark uncomfortable. As a fellow soldier, he had expected some respect.

"From a source," was all Grant said.

"But-"

"That's all you need to know, Snow!" Grant had practically yelled back. Or at least that was how it felt to Mark, though the supposed terrorist on the street never heard a thing. Grant then walked towards the shadows, bent to lift something, and returned, to Mark's surprise, with a 50 caliber rifle. He set it up in the ledge, took aim, waiting for the terrorist to separate from the group he was with, probably to take his usual shortcut home through an ally. Grant fired straight at the terrorist. The man fell in the ally as Mark looked on, shocked.

Grant saw the look on Mark's face. Before Mark could say anything, Grant spoke.

"We have a duty out here. It is kill, or be killed. Here is what you need to know. There are dangerous people out there, a threat to the nation. We are here to eliminate that threat. You are Mark Snow, now. Get used to it."

Grant began to walk away before he turned and called back, "Don't forget to clean up." Mark had stood on the roof for a few seconds before following Grant down to where the terrorist lay, dead.

At first Mark had found his handler to be insufferable, uncaring, and horrible. The man seemed to go out of his way to make Mark feel uncomfortable or upset. Agent Grant never told Mark anything about a mission, claiming that he only gave Mark the information he "needed to know". Eventually, Mark grew tired, annoyed, and asked the man one night what is was that he did not like.

"Because you ask too many questions, Snow. Too many 'whys'" Grant had said. "Out here, questions get us killed." And he left it with that, dropping the subject completely.

After that, Mark stopped asking questions, and Grant remained his same old self. He worked like a robot given a command, carrying it out to the letter, no questions asked. There were times, however, that it seemed to Mark that there was a human beneath the cold, hard surface of Agent Grant.

The first time Mark was shot on a mission was, as Grant would later point out, clearly Mark's fault. However, when the bullet went through Mark's shoulder, Grant had rushed to his side, despite the gunfire all around the warehouse, and carried, more like dragged Mark to the car. Mark had lost consciousness sometime during the ride, but had awoken to Grant by his bedside. When Mark asked where they were and what had happened, Grant had only smiled and said, "The agency takes care of its own, Mark. Don't ask questions. Rest." Shortly before falling asleep, Mark saw Grant shift in the seat, clearly stiff from sitting in the chair for a while.

But that all changed when another agent approached Mark and told him Grant was a double agent. The man had presented the evidence, and told Mark that Grant had to be eliminated.

"I know it is hard, but the agency takes care of its own," the man had said before walking away. Mark had just wanted to scream back at the agent. How dare he pretend to "know" how hard it was! The agency "took care of its own." Mark almost laughed at the double meaning behind the statement. They saved the good, erased the bad. And if he didn't do the job, someone else would kill Grant, and then come after him. It had to be done, not just for the nation, but for himself.

So he did the job, like he was supposed to. Later, the CIA had a funeral for Grant before sweeping him under the rug. And for the first time since he joined the CIA, Mark drank.

2003

Mark was sent off to meet with Agents Zimmerman and Delmar. Upon meeting them, Mark realized how different they were from Grant.

"I'm John Zimmerman," he had said right away, extending a hand in greeting. "But you can call me Zims," he added. "It is easier, you know, if you have to shout at me or something."

"Ariana Delmar, or 'Del'," the woman introduced herself with a smile.

Zims and Del were a breath of fresh air for Mark, proof that not everyone in the agency was as stone cold as Grant had been. They started the meeting without shooting a single person, and Del soon began teasing Mark about not being able to have a cool nickname, since his name was simply "Snow". But despite the jokes, they were serious. Zims and Del did their job, but the relationship between the three was comfortable, almost familiar. Sure, what they did was dangerous, but Zims and Del took the edge off in a way that Grant never had.

Then one day in December of that year, their car, provided by the agency, exploded with Zims and Del inside. But not Mark. He had been a safe distance away, but that alone put him under suspicion. Mark disappeared before the agency could descend upon him and eliminate him. But Mark did not hide for long. Instead, he worked hard to find the real man responsible for his two, well, Mark at that time called them friends. He hacked networks, found security camera footage of the bombs being placed, tracked the man backwards until he had a clear idea of who it was. Mark then found the agent, but he could not get a confession. The evidence he had was not good enough for the CIA. So, looking at the man he had captured, Mark realized what he needed to do. And at the end of the day, when he had the confession he wanted, Mark realized what he could do.

Later that week, Mark walked straight up to the director and presented the evidence, included the recorded confession from the agent. And when the director asked what had become of the agent, Mark simply said, "Taken care of."

2008

Mark, since his return to the agency, had helped the CIA track down many agents straying from the path, as Mark put it. Over the years, he had been attached to a group of two or three, pretending to be "just another agent" but at the same time infiltrating and, if necessary, eliminating. He could not count the number of agents whose trust he had worked so hard to gain, only to see if they posed a threat to national security, as Mark put it in his reports. The real security he was protecting was that of the agency. Those who were too connected to their old lives would never be good agents, Mark believed. Mark had been the ideal agent, one who had nothing left in the real world to tie him down. Mark barely even remembered his real name.

He had been called to investigate John Reese, handler Cara Stanton. Reese was still connected through an old girlfriend. At least his girlfriend is still alive, Mark thought, remembering for a moment his own past before pushing it down again. This was Reese's first time back in the States since he started, and it happened to be in the same city as the ex. After watching Reese clean his gun for what felt like the hundredth time, Mark decided the only way to see how Reese truly felt was to let the dog out of the cage. Reese was barely on the street when Stanton stood up, and followed him. Mark did the same to her.

He followed the pair to what seemed to be a random bar, until Stanton approached Reese. The man he had sat next to just happened to be the girlfriend's husband. Mark was just considering how to proceed when he heard Stanton give a speech, concluding by saying, "We are the dark." She got up and left. Reese followed.

In Mark's report, he simply put, "The handler has everything under control."

2010

Mark was called in to investigate some familiar faces. This time, there had been rumors that the relationship between Agent Stanton and Agent Reese was becoming a bit too... personal. But at that point, Mark no longer needed any details. All he needed to know was the name. Not that his research did not reveal the true meaning of the statement, it was just that Mark no longer cared. He did his job, no questions asked.

He did not have to dig far. When a name came up for a second inquiry, it was clear that the person had to go, and everyone near that person, too. He set them up, and did the job.

But there was a problem. John Reese was not found. It was very unlike Mark Snow to lose a person like that. For now, it wasn't a problem, and extremely unlikely, but Mark reminded himself to keep his eyes open for any hint that John Reese was still alive.

2011

And now Mark Snow stood looking back at John Reese, again. There was no escape from the parking garage. There would be no mistakes this time.

He hadn't always been like this. He had once been a kind, trustworthy husband. He had known love, comfort, and happiness. But that had all been taken away, and over the years, he barely remembered his old life. He simply was Mark Snow, the CIA agent who took care of the rest. The man who didn't ask questions. This was his life now.

Evans fired the first shot.


End file.
